Two weeks ago today, we had to say goodbye to our sweet Evie.
She loved to ride in the car…
…and lie in the sun…
…and on the couch…
…and on the floor…
…and she is missed most terribly.
The shock has finally worn off enough that today I was able to rejoin LexPoMo:
https://lexpomo.com/poem/presence-in-absence/
2025 really ate my lunch, and here we are, almost halfway through 2026, and I’m still recovering. The ills that befell me directly were minimal, but the ills that befell people close to me were staggering: terminal diagnoses, chemotherapy, radiation, hospice, deaths, evictions, relocations, and more.
My intentions for 2025 got lost in this sea of troubles, and I never really set any intentions for 2026. But the beginning of Lexington Poetry Month invites me to move the compass needle a little more in a direction of my choosing, so here goes: https://lexpomo.com/poem/unprepared/
Here’s to better days, a better month…and please, dear Muse, better poetry!
Periodical cicada Brood XIV has just about concluded its above-ground affairs in my neck of the woods. Most of the adults who emerged over the last several weeks have fulfilled their multi-fold purpose, and their small, lifeless bodies are everywhere. The grass and sidewalk glitter with crystalline wings, as if an army of molting fairies has passed through.
For me, the cicadas have been rather like fairies: mysterious and magical, strange and beautiful, deeply connected with the natural world but wholly unconcerned with the human world. They appear at regular and oddly spaced intervals, conduct their business without regard for anything else, and then disappear.
After weeks of deafening song, the neighborhood is strangely quiet. Already I miss them: the friendly chirr and click of individuals; the power of the full chorus, waves of sound rippling through a wall of vibration that is almost unbearable. It reminded me of the visions of Old Testament prophets, where winged beings fly through the heavens in dizzying numbers and cause the foundations to shake with their unceasing voices.
With the help of audio files on the University of Connecticut’s excellent information pages, I’ve determined that ours were/are (and will be when they again emerge) Magicicada cassini. You can hear what they sound like here: https://cicadas.uconn.edu/species/m_cassini/.
I have a final sweet cicada story to share. Yesterday I was in another part of town where the cicadapalooza is waning but not altogether finished. Before leaving, I stood in the shade of some trees to enjoy the chorus for several minutes. As I opened the car door and started to get in, a loud chirring sound, quite close, made me pause and look at my reflection in the car window. A cicada had landed on my shoulder. After saying hello, I offered a finger for it to climb onto; it obliged, and I transferred it to a nearby tree branch and took my leave.
Once in the car and up on the highway, I glanced down and saw another cicada on my sleeve. I said hello and asked it not to do anything crazy, or we’d both be in a pickle. It calmly walked up my arm and perched on my hand, looking out the windshield as I drove along. I used the first exit and found a gas station next to a wooded area. I got out of the car and left my would-be copilot on the branch of a tree, bidding it a fond farewell.
Lastly, I tried to capture something of my cicada experience in another poem:
Winding down
still they sing
on the sidewalk, in the grass
as they lie dying
cadence of whirs and clicks
ever slower
tiny, intricate, clockwork
musicians
(an earlier version of this appeared on the LexPoMo web site: https://lexpomo.com/poem/winding-down/)
Posted in Poetry
Tagged arthropods, cicadas, Lexington Poetry Month, LexPoMo, periodical cicadas
Happy Lexington Poetry Month! I have signed up once more for the LexPoMo challenge, a wonderful community of people who gather online to write and share poetry for this brief month. Here’s a link to my first poem: https://lexpomo.com/poem/cicada-on-my-shoulder/
I wrote the poem (and am writing now) from our back porch, where the cicada singing is averaging 85.2 dB. I’m wearing earplugs, as prolonged exposure above 70 dB inflicts hearing loss. I don’t want to go overboard out of deference to the arthropod-squeamish, so here are just a few recent photos:
Signing off from Cicada Central…
Science-y Thoughts
We’re now in the third week of the septendecimal appearance of Brood XIV, not quite halfway through. Emergence has slowed but continues overall, with bursts of activity in sheltered spots where the soil is slower to warm. Today is a sunny day in the low 70s (F), and the decibel level is in the mid 80s, well within the range that can cause hearing damage over time. (I’m writing this from the back porch and wearing noise-cancelling earphones.) There’s a constant flurry of bugs (actually correct, as they are members of Order Hemiptera, which are known as true bugs) from tree to tree or between ground and trees. It’s like a time-lapse video of all the world’s busiest airports stacked on each other.
Although they didn’t emerge all at once like last time (we’ve had a cooler spring this year – I’m guessing temperatures in May 2008 went straight from 40s to 80s, as sometimes happens here), they’ve nevertheless been impressive. I downloaded a citizen scientist app and have been contributing photos and videos to an ongoing study of periodic cicadas in the U.S. Here’s the most fascinating thing I’ve learned about these critters: Brood XIV were the first periodical cicadas recorded by Europeans when it emerged in 1634 at Plymouth Colony. The colonists described “a quantity of a great sort of flies like for bigness to wasps or bumblebees, which came out of holes in the ground…and soon made such a constant yelling noise…as ready to deaf the hearers.”
More Poetic Thoughts
I’m wondering if these weren’t the original BEMs (Bug-Eyed Monsters) of science fiction…
My son observed that the pale, newly emerged adults look like enlightened, brilliant beings or whimsical creatures of fancy, whereas the fully matured adults just look like vaguely horrifying, too-large-for-comfort insects.
Somewhat along the same lines, the newly emerged adults seem to me rather like ghosts or fairies, though I find the fully pigmented adults more comical and friendly-looking, with their big round eyes. Rather like Muppets, perhaps.
Signing off from Cicada Central, as my daughter now describes our place…
Posted in Uncategorized
Tagged arthropods, cicadas, insects, nature, periodical cicadas, science
Periodical cicada Brood XIV has begun to emerge. As one of the few areas of undisturbed soil in the neighborhood, our back yard is a micro-sanctuary for these fascinating insects. (It also helps that we don’t use pesticides.)
I’ve been eagerly awaiting them, and was thrilled to find some of the first few while walking the dog early this morning:
The last time they appeared seventeen years ago, I glanced out the kitchen window and noticed the ground out back seemed to be moving, like I was seeing it through the waves of heat that rise from pavement in summer. Looking more closely, I realized that the grass blades and violet leaves were vibrating because thousands of cicada nymphs were climbing them! It’s a sight I’ll never forget, and I’m kind of hoping to see it again this year. Maybe tomorrow?
Thanks once again to Lisa Hase-Jackson for the prompt that led to today’s poem. I didn’t exactly follow the directions, but poetry likes to break the rules.
Here is the thing: feathers
make me sneeze, bless my soul,
and tunes without words
make no sense at all
to me, unless heard
a thousand times, so they storm
my senses like flocking birds
or a swarm
of locusts upon the land.
Yet, when I feel utterly at sea
like that, in my extremity
I am so much more than ever me.
https://zingarapoet.net/2025/04/21/a-focused-free-writing-poetry-prompt/
…and here are the last of the tulips, going out with a bang.
Thanks to Lisa Hase-Jackson’s prompt (and a little free time) I have a poem to post today!
Skirting the subject
Salad is the currency of assumption, an affair
we don’t bother to unpack. Disaster is a pie
we warm in the microwave, topped with trouble
and crushed dreams. Ask Sir Isaac to explain
the physics of it all, or the professor who groped
you in the rear of the science lab during a quiz.
https://zingarapoet.net/2025/04/19/random-word-prompt/
And in honor of Earth Day, here are some of my favorite daffodils from the yard. (The name escapes me at the moment.)
Posted in Poetry
Tagged NaPoMo, NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Month, National Poetry Writing Month, poetry practice, prompted poetry
Dandelion don’t care where she grow
edge of the road, edge of the rose bed
deep in the middle of a thick green lawn
with sprinkler system (she like that)
sidewalk crack or fancy bed
she sink her toes, stretch her arms
wide, lift her burning face
to the sky, tiny sun
here on the ground
Posted in Poetry
Tagged dandelions, NaPoMo, NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Month, National Poetry Writing Month
One of the most wonderful and humbling things that can happen for me as an artist is for my work to inspire someone else’s art.
My friend Liz is a fabulously talented fiber artist. Today she surprised me with a gift of her latest design:
She even wrote a poem of her own for the back:
Things like this remind me that life is good. Friends are good. Art is good. Poetry is good.
The Daily Compost 